


The Seer

by esteefee



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [4]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Beer, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Pre-Slash, well inspired by telesilla's idea about the fanart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 05:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8132837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: Inspired by Telesilla's Tumblr prompt:  "Take the episode number away and you have a title to go with this album cover."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Telesilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/gifts).



"Come here often?" A rough voice yelled into Rodney's ear, cutting over the jukebox and making him jostle his drink.

"Excuse me!" Rodney responded, rounding on his assailant. "Do you min—oh. It's you." His face heated up.

"John Sheppard," Sheppard said, offering his hand. "Seeing as this is the third night in a row you've caught my gig, I figured I'd come over during my break and find out which one it was: private eye or talent scout."

Rodney hastily wiped his beery hand on his trousers before taking Sheppard's. "Why on earth would a private detective be after someone like you?"

Sheppard's eyebrows went up. 

"Sorry, sorry," Rodney said. "I didn't mean to imply…well, huh. I don't know what that implies. I'm sure you deserve every private investigation that comes your way?"

"Thanks a lot." Sheppard smirked as he shrugged. "I have an ex. We're still going through a divorce…but I was kidding about the P.I. The split was amicable."

"Oh. Oh." Rodney felt deflated, but then Sheppard leaned against the bar just a hair too close. Christ, he smelled good. And why was there a gap between the buttons of his shirt? Rodney had been staring at it all evening.

"I didn't catch your name," Sheppard drawled. 

"McKay. Dr. Rodney McKay. I'm a researcher at Georgia Tech."

"So, then: not here to give me a record deal." Sheppard smiled broadly, and oh. Oh, that was devastating in too many ways for Rodney's piece of mind. And here the man wasn't even singing anymore in that low, gravely baritone that fascinated Rodney so. It split into tones that soothed him, that thrilled his ears, and the stories he told, self-deprecating, darkly amusing, fit his own moods so perfectly, he could swear they were written for him.

"No, not a talent scout, I'm afraid," Rodney said. "You neglected to mention a third option." 

There went the eyebrows again. "You like the beer here?"

"Hell, no." Rodney tipped his bottle and looked at it. "I'd hardly deign to call this swill 'beer' at all." 

Sheppard laughed aloud, and for all Rodney enjoyed his singing, this sound could hardly be termed musical. 

"You laugh like a dirty old Frenchman from the hills of Bastogne."

Unfortunately, he'd just made Sheppard laugh harder.

Rodney frowned. "Seriously, did your parents raise you on a daily diet of Borscht Belt comedians? Because I don't know where else you could have gotten that laugh from."

Sheppard kept laughing and pounded the bar a couple of times, which had the beneficial effect of bringing the bartender over. She took one look at them both and dropped two more Molson on the bar and uncapped them. She started to bring out a glass for Sheppard, but he waved her away.

"Thanks, Jina." Sheppard wiped his eyes with his wrist and then picked up his beer and raised it briefly to Rodney. "Thanks for that. It's been a tough week."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Pissing match with the label over my album cover. I want it simple; they want it flashy. They've got the money so they'll probably win. You know how it goes."

"I can't say I do, not being a talent scout."

"Right, right." Sheppard grinned again, but he'd lost some animation, perhaps reminded of his troubles. He drank back some long swallows of beer, his throat moving enticingly, before putting his bottle down and saying, "So what does a researcher do, Dr. McKay? Other than hang out mysteriously in bars?" 

Rodney's blush would be the death of him. "Right now? Fascinating work in cold chemistry. Basically, entangled states calculated through massive parallel computer quantum simulations of ultra-cold fermionic atoms. You wouldn't believe the results!" 

Sheppard's eyes were shining. "I'm sure I wouldn't."

"You're mocking me."

"I'm really not." Sheppard leaned closer as the juke box got louder. "I'm not saying I understand what the hell you're talking about, but it's obviously pretty gosh darned cool." He smirked and pulled back.

"Ah, a pun. As if I haven't heard a quadrillion variations on the very same pun in the past eight months."

"We aim to please." Sheppard raised his hand and Jina came back and served him another beer.

"This is your last freebie tonight," she warned him. "And Jimmy says you're back on in two." She swiped the bar in front of Rodney. "Anything else for you, mister?"

"No, thank you."

Jina took off. Sheppard turned toward Rodney and said, "Gotta go. You planning on catching the second set?"

Rodney considered himself a strong man, but there was no way he could withstand the appeal in Sheppard's oddly colored eyes. 

"Of course. If you—you want me to stick around?" 

Sheppard wet his lower lip. "How else am I going to take you home with me, darlin'?"

Rodney swayed a little on his bar stool, and by the time he'd opened his eyes, Sheppard was gone.

But all through his set, Sheppard's eyes kept traveling over and fixing on Rodney's in the crowd. 

And Rodney looked back.

………………………………  
September 25, 2016  
San Francisco, CA


End file.
